


Crawl Home

by Meridas



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Secret Wars Battleworlds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, M/M, Planet Hulk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fix-it fic for Planet Hulk #5.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Bucky is dead, he deserves to be put to rest outside this terrible, gamma-soaked land – but if he’s alive, if this is a test of how far Steve’s fallen, how far he’ll go, then Steve needs him back. And he’ll do anything to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawl Home

**Author's Note:**

> Fix-it fic: Spoilers for Planet Hulk (2015) Issues 4 and 5.

The arm is heavy in his hands. He’s always known, objectively, that it’s quite a weight – all those winces Bucky tried to hide, all the small habits the two of them acquired to deal with it. Steve’s hands still remember how to touch and press, the perfect amount of pressure to relax the overworked muscles of Bucky’s upper back after those long days of fighting. But it’s never been heavy like this – heavy and still and cold, lifeless in his hands.

He’s failed.

Steve traces the scratched emblem on Bucky’s arm. The super-soldier serum they shared gives his mind and memories crystal, painful clarity – he can remember the day he painted the shield on Bucky’s new arm, the small, wan smile Bucky rewarded him with. He remembers endless hours of rehabilitation, training: learning to live and fight all over again after the accident. He remembers seeing the laughter, the spark, come back to Bucky’s eyes. He remembers taking these metal fingers between his own and bringing them to his lips, the sheer relief and sharp love in Bucky’s expression as they learned how to be together again.

So many memories. And now the arm is all he has left.

The Red King is still talking to him, blaming God Doom. Steve can’t think of anyone to blame but himself.

_I should never have let him go._

“It is God Doom who would have us all kill each other,” the Red King growls. “A cycle to continue, forever and ever. Hail God Doom.” He snorts. Then he stands. “But there is another option.”

Steve doesn’t respond. Bucky’s arm is cold and heavy, but he won’t set it down.

“I control the vibranium. I have a Hulk army. And Doom has one weakness, which only I have discovered. Join me,” the Red King offers, “and we’ll strike back against God Doom. It is the only revenge for your comrade,” he adds, as if this is what Steve wants.

As if he understands the rage building in Steve’s gut, the righteous fury and the rising urge to kill the Red King, not to fulfill his contract but for the _revenge_ he mentioned, for killing the most important person in Steve’s life, for taking _Bucky_ —

_Easy, kid,_ his memory murmurs. _Pay attention. What’s wrong with this?_

Steve tightens his fingers around the metal wrist.

If it’s a revolution that the Red King wants, then a soldier like Bucky just isn’t disposable – an army of Hulks is brutally strong, but the Red King needs generals. Needs leaders who can think tactically, whose minds haven’t been washed in gamma, who know the territory he aims to conquer. Bucky would be invaluable to the Red King.

And so is Steve – but only if the Red King has a means of controlling him, baiting him. Keeping him on a short leash.

Why tell him Bucky is dead, then – only to make him desperate, angry? Or… is this a test?

“I want his body,” Steve says. “If I’m to go back to God Doom’s land, it’s to bury Bucky. Anything else is secondary.”

The Red King gestures with the skull in his hand, sloshing wine onto the floor. “Bury the arm, if it’s so important to you.”

“No,” Steve says quietly. He doesn’t want to hope, he _can’t_ , he’s not sure he can survive losing this hope – _it’s not hope,_ he tells himself firmly. _It’s just a mission. It’s finishing the mission. If he’s truly gone, you still owe him this._ “I’m not negotiating with you. This is my price. Let me take his body home. I will lead your revolution back to God Doom, but only so I can bury my Warbound where he deserves to rest.”

Steve gets to his feet, bringing his shield forward and his chin up. “Unless you have something better than his body to offer me.”

The Red King gazes heavily at Steve for a long moment – but if there’s one thing Steve’s always been good at, it’s staring down his enemy. He won’t be the first to blink. If Bucky is dead, he deserves to be put to rest outside this terrible, gamma-soaked land – but if he’s alive, if this is a test of how far Steve’s fallen, how far he’ll go, then Steve _needs him back._ And he’ll do anything to save him.

Then the Red King _smiles_ , and it’s horrible to see.

“I knew there was still use for humans,” he chuckles. “I have heard of your triumphs in the Killeseum – and your time in the war, Captain.” He lifts his skull goblet to Steve. “You’ll do well with my army of Hulks, I think. And if you win, you go free with your Warbound. If you fail, he dies with you. Do these terms suit?”

“Where is he?” Steve demands. He won’t let his voice shake. He won’t show the agony of hope blooming in his soul.

“He won’t be useful in our fight,” the Red King says dismissively. He leers at the metal arm in Steve’s grip. “He’ll stay here, and when I stand victorious above God Doom’s corpse, then you may have him. Whatever’s left of him.”

“Let me see him,” Steve demands, “now. And then you have a deal.”

…

The Red King’s dungeon is cold as night in the gamma desert. Steve follows, notes the hidden paths they take, the trick doors and false walls. Bucky won’t be in any shape to remember the way out, so it falls to Steve. He’s alright with this – he can handle it. Bucky’s saved his life hundreds of times. Steve promised to protect him. He’s not letting him rot another minute in this awful place.

They come to a halt, and Steve’s breath catches.

“Your Warbound mate,” the Red King sneers. He scoffs. “As I said – he won’t be of much use to you.”

Bucky has never looked so small. His right arm – his only arm – is chained to the wall, his wrist thin and delicate in the cruel iron shackle. He’s paler than Steve has ever seen him, and he looks towards the door as if he can’t focus – as if he’s drunk, or drugged, more likely. His clothing is in tatters and his hair is greasy, limp.

He looks terrible, and he’s the best goddamn sight Steve has ever laid eyes on.

Gently, Steve sets his metal arm down on the ground.

“And he’ll stay here, Captain, until you—”

Steve attacks.

In a heartbeat, Steve’s axe slices through meat and tendon; in the next, his shield cracks across the Red King’s face. Steve hits him again, again, again – and the fight is over before the Red King’s roar of betrayal has time to reverberate.

Steve was never here for finesse. The serum courses like fire through his veins, heightens his abilities almost to the point of pain, but it doesn’t matter if it hurts. It means he’s swift and brutal: it means he’s fast and strong enough to end a fight in seconds, to take Bucky and run to Devil Dinosaur before anyone is the wiser.

There is a war coming, one way or another. There’s always a war coming. But Steve’s done with the cycle. He’s bowing out, and he’s taking Bucky with him.

“No more,” he swears. He hefts his shield, wedges it into the hinges of Bucky’s cell door. “No more fighting for Gods and Kings.” He heaves his entire body weight down, and the hinges scream in protest. He shoves, and the tortured door clangs down to the floor. “Not one more cause we don’t believe in.” Cold shackles twist and bend beneath his hands. “Not ever again, Buck, I promise. Promise me.”

“Steve,” he hears, for the first time in months, and he knows he can do whatever it takes to keep this. “Steve, you – you’re here.”

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. “I’m taking you home.”

…

The wilds of Greenland aren’t safe enough for a fire at night, but Devil Dinosaur curls up around them, alert to the night and radiating warmth and safety from his scaly hide. Bucky looks positively grey with exhaustion, but his eyes are bright under the night sky, and he keeps them open to look back at Steve, and that makes everything feel alright again.

They don’t have much, but they never really did. Steve lays down and Bucky curls into his arms, and that’s all they need. Steve can’t sleep, doesn’t want to shut his eyes for a second; so in a soft voice, wary of the hostile night, he recounts his journey to Bucky. He almost expects him to drop off in the midst of the tale, but Bucky just keeps looking back at him, squeezing his arm in reassurance. When the story is over and Steve falls quiet, Bucky lets out a small sigh.

“Makin’ deals with all sorts of devils, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “What’re you gonna do now? What if they both want to chase you down to hold up your end?”

Steve smooths Bucky’s wild hair out of his face. “It was never about them,” he says. “God Doom and the Red King can both fuck off and kill each other, for all I care. Everything I did, every deal I made, was to find you. It was always about you, Buck. Nothing’s ever been more important.”

Bucky smiles up at him. “My hero,” he says quietly.

And it’s _perfect_ – gods, it’s the closest thing to perfect that Steve’s ever felt in his life, laying on this gritty patch of earth with Bucky in his arms again. “I try,” he aims for a joke, and his heart swells when Bucky rewards him with a tiny chuckle. He kisses him, and they’re exhausted and filthy and hurt, but it’s perfect and it’s them and it’s like finally coming _home_.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve whispers. Bucky lays his head on his chest, and finally closes his bright eyes. “I’ve got you back. Everything else, we can figure out.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I've ever spontaneously ficc'ed like this before, so it had to go up before I lost my nerve.


End file.
